Heirs to Merlin
by Uncle Alex
Summary: Magic is an ancient power, and the Wizarding world is not the first, or the most powerful set of wielders. Ancient Orders and Scholars once existed to wield this power, and master it. Who says they ceased to exist, or chose to hide in the same manner. History tells of the Order of Hermes, masters of magic, and their might. They are still mighty, and hide amongst the mundanes...
1. Prelude

_Prelude  
>Little Winging, Surrey, England.<br>Late June 2005, approximately 01:30_

Looking at Number four, Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey, you'd assume it was a normal household, with normal people, and a normal lifestyle. And three of the four inhabitants would be very happy for you to assume that. Vernon Dursley would happily shake you by the hand, well, unless you happened to be Arab, or not born in England, or Jewish, or gay, or anything else he deemed abnormal, or that the Daily Mail looked down on, or that UKIP had told him was bad... but if you were 'normal' by his standards, you'd be shaken by the hand and called a good person. His wife quite often went along with his wishes, mostly for the quiet life, and his son... well, Dudley Dursley was a thug, even at the tender age of five years old. Even at five years old he was a bully, and took great pleasure in pleasing his parents by tormenting the fourth inhabitant of number four.

The fourth inhabitant, you see, embodied all that was 'freakish' in Vernon Dursley's eyes. Little Harry James Potter was a regular five year old child to most appearances. Born in England, to two English parents, incidentally Petunia Dursley's sister and brother in law, and as of yet completely uninterested in either his own OR the other gender in anything but a friendly manner, Harry unfortunately suffered from one condition his uncle refused to tolerate. For you see, Harry Potter possessed the gift, the ability to weave and work a force known as magic.

Theoreticians who had been aware of magic had often wondered at it's source, and those who, in the modern era, understood the principles of Einsteinian and Newtonian physics found themselves even more bemused by the fact that magic seemed to choose to obey the older Aristotelian theories on how physics should work. To most of the world, however, magic did not exist. If it hadn't been for the unfortunate deaths of James and Lily Potter, Vernon Dursley would have remained unaware of the existance of magic, a secret his wife had not bothered to tell him about until the day Harry was left on their doorstep.

For four years, since shortly after he was one year old, Harry had lived with his aunt and uncle, who had mistreated him, and abused him, emotionally if not necessarily physically. Vernon's sister, Marge, had turned up for Dudley's birthday, and had hit him on the shins earlier to prevent him winning at a game of Musical Statues. She was staying overnight in the upstairs guest room, opposite Dudley's second bedroom.

So, the inhabitants and guests of number four were fast asleep, Petunia and Vernon in their bedroom, Dudley in his, Marge in the guest room, and Harry in the cupboard under the stairs. But this sleep was interrupted by an unexpected, intrusive and aggressive noise. The AgustaWestland Merlin AW101 isn't a quiet aircraft by any means, and having one hover over your house at around half one in the morning will not do wonders for your popularity with the neighbours. Of course, when the reason it is hovering is so that a dozen armed men can then rappel in through your upstairs windows, the sudden downturn of your popularity with your neighbours might be a secondary issue to screaming in terror, as Petunia Dursley quickly demonstrated.

Vernon, foolishly, tried to leap to his feet and tackle one of the intruders, who promptly jammed the butt of his weapon into the obese man's nose, knocking him back.  
>"Stay down, sir, unless you wish to see if you can survive aggressive lead poisoning." the black clad figure glared at the now sprawled man.<p>

Harry woke with a start as the sound of smashing glass came from upstairs. His aunt was screaming, Aunt Marge was apparently swearing at someone, and the heavy thump was probably uncle Vernon landing on the floor heavily, meaning he'd fallen out of bed or something, at a guess. The creaking of the stairs as someone made their way down them caused his curiosity, usually suppressed, to get the better of his caution, and Harry carefully looked out of the gap in the vent. He was surprised to see a figure, clad in black, with some sort of gun in it's hands, creep past and into the kitchen. The repetitive thumping noise masked the sound of the footsteps, and also Harry's quiet breathing, meaning the figure never even looked at the cupboard.  
>"No sign of the boy." the figure muttered, glancing around, the now obviously male voice sounding annoyed. "We may need to resort to interrogating the … balloons. Wait one."<br>Harry ducked back as the figure glanced towards the cupboard, and hid. The sound of the door unlocking caused him to cringe, and as it opened, he began to cry.

"Please don't hurt me. I'll be good. I won't do anything freaky, I promise! Please don't hurt me!" he cried, cowering in the corner as hard as he could.  
>"Relax, relax... aww crap. Uh... Boss... found your lad, but he's freaking out. How do I proceed, copy?" the man then took a step back as Harry's magic accidentally flared, driven by utter panic at the word 'freaking'.<p>

Harry woke up in a soft, comfortable bed, with white sheets and sunlight... well, daylight in any case, streaming in through the windows. The weather outside appeared to be rain, and he could see another small cluster of houses from the bed. The room appeared to otherwise be empty, and he slid out of the bed, slipping on his second hand glasses, timidly, unsure of where he was or what had happened. The door opening caused him to duck behind the bed, as a figure in a dark t-shirt, with a black beard carefully tied into a Celtic knot, stepped into the room. Pale grey eyes watched him from behind a pair of half moon glasses, and the figure spoke.

"Good morning, lad." came an accent which Harry would have placed, had he had more experience with accents, as a variant of a Welsh accent filtered through a northern English accent. It had a slight lilt to it, however, which felt safe. It was different enough from his Uncle Vernon's accent that it certainly didn't seem scary.

"...Uh... g'mornin sir. Ummm... who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?" Harry replied, eyeing the man carefully.

"Well, that's a long story, but... to answer your first question, I'm your Uncle Alexander, and I'm your new guardian..."


	2. Chapter 1: Into the Alley

_Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter or Ars Magica. Names from Robst's works are used with his kind permission._

_Hogwarts, July 26th, 2011._

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was a worried man. He'd been near constantly worried since, four years after leaving Harry Potter with his aunt and uncle, the devices he'd been utilising to monitor the boy's status had all failed on the same day, at the same time. But today he was especially worried. After all, it wasn't every day that a letter turned up from someone you believed dead.

'Professor Dumbledore

My name is Harry Potter. I am hereby accepting your offer of a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pursuant on three conditions.  
>My first condition is that this be a probationary acceptance, dependent on whether I find your school suited to my needs as a student.<p>

The second is that I be allowed to leave at weekends in order to attend to my duties as required by my status as heir apparent to the house of Potter.

The third is that my uncle, Alexander, be allowed to enter and leave the school as needed, as he is presently acting as regent for my house, and thus requires my signature on a significant amount of Gringotts paperwork.

Yours sincerely.  
>H. , Filius Miles<p>

Arcem Hermes'

This letter had him worried firstly because it was unusual for someone supposedly dead for six years. Secondly, it listed conditions including conditions regarding Harry's status as heir to his house, something Dumbledore had hoped Harry wouldn't know about. Thirdly he had NO idea why the phrase "Son of Soldier" was affixed to the boy's name. And finally, he had no idea how it had gotten here. Aberforth had been most annoyed that a letter had just turned up in his pub, addressed to his brother, and had threatened to break his nose once again if it became necessary.

Of course, he couldn't afford to not have Harry Potter attend Hogwarts. The 'light' side, or more precisely, his personal fanclub, for whom it was fortunate he was more or less inclined towards the light, needed this showing to push back the 'dark' forces. And besides, it'd do untold damage to his reputation if the boy didn't attend. And once he was here, Dumbledore could begin to influence him along the 'correct' path. It never occurred to the headmaster that perhaps his path wasn't the right one. After all, it had to be, he was Albus Dumbledore.

There was a solution, though. He would send a reply via owl, as obviously the first one had found the boy, arranging for a member of Hogwarts staff to meet him, take him to Diagon Alley, and so on. Obviously, sending Minerva, or Filius... out of the question. Severus also, his hatred of James Potter would merely antagonise the boy... Hagrid, he'd do fine. Yes, that was the obvious choice.

The decision made, Dumbledore began to pen his response.

_Arcem Hermes', Somewhere in the British Isles, a day later._

"Harry! HARRY! HARRY! WAKE UP!" came the bellows. A loud crashing noise later, followed by a selection of rude words in a variety of languages, and Alexander Merlin, guardian of Harry Potter, regent of the house of Potter, and currently soaking wet, stormed into the room. "...A bucket of water? What, do you think I'll melt? I'm a bloody magus, not the wicked witch of the west!"

Harry snorted, staring his uncle in the eye. "Serves you right for just barging in, Uncle Alex." he replied. "And no, if I wanted you to melt, I'd have made sure it was Sulphuric Acid or something similar. Besides, I don't follow the Tyalian philosophy. That's more Candor's style, though he has tried to espouse on it's positives before."

Alexander rubbed his nose, glowering at his nephew. He wasn't as annoyed as he appeared, and in fact was mildly proud that his nephew had finally reached the point whereupon he was able to plot an ambush of this sort. But there were still standards to keep to. "Well, since you're awake... there's another one of those owls. I know we discussed that your parents wanted you to attend this Hogwarts, and the arrangements, so hopefully this is a reply agreeing to the conditions. Once we can put that wedge in place, I can begin to manoeuvre things. I've spent a while establishing myself a personae, with the assistance of the Goblins, so I can move in the wizarding world and appear to be a part of it, and hopefully the cover story of being an archaeologist working for Gringotts will hold. It's close enough that the basics line up anyway. Here."  
>Harry took the rolled up parchment without comment. Why the wizards insisted on still using parchment was beyond him, paper was of better quality, and cheaper and easier to write on.<p>

'Harry Potter

Arcem Hermes'

Mr Potter. Your conditions can be... agreed to, with some restrictions. Your uncle will not be on school grounds unescorted, a member of staff must escort him to and from his meetings with you. When you leave the school grounds, I must be informed before hand, and must be informed when you return. And you must attend this school for at least the first year before making a final decision. If these conditions are acceptable, please state so in your reply to this letter. The owl will wait for you to have written a reply and will convey it back, meaning you will not be required to have it delivered via my brother again.

In addition, if you accept, I have arranged for a member of Hogwart's staff, Rubeus Hagrid, to meet with you and escort you to Diagon Alley. He will meet you at King's Cross railway station, at the join between platforms nine and ten, at two thirty in the afternoon on the thirty first of July. I am aware this day is your birthday, and feel that meeting Hagrid, an old friend of your parents, might be the best birthday present an old man who has not seen you in many years can provide at this time.

Albus W.P.B. Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwart's. Amongst other titles.'

"Hah" was all Alexander had to say, reading over his shoulder.

"Guess they think I've been living isolated from their world, rather than knowing what happens and who people are. This Hagrid, he's the... groundskeeper, I think, isn't he?" Harry smiled. "I guess he's got to be a nice enough guy if my mum and dad were friends with him, but why would you send a groundskeeper to meet with a new student unless you wanted to deny them information?"

"Well, we'll see. I hardly want to assume the worst, now." Alexander replied, with a slight smirk.

"Oh please, Uncle, you're the one who's always telling me a pessimist can only be positively surprised."

"True. Too true. Anyway... on your birthday? If you want to meet this Hagrid chap, you'd best send a reply as soon as. Tear off a corner of the paper, I'll use it to track the bird's flight path via the arcane connection, just to map out if there's some form of central routing for their mail service. Oh... and breakfast is on the table in twenty, if you're not down there I'm having your bacon."

With that, Harry scrambled to the desk and began to write hurriedly, as there was no way he was giving up his rightful share of the bacon...

_July 31__st__, 2:30pm, King's Cross, London. Just between platforms 9 and 10.  
><em>"'Arry? Is that you? I 'aven't seen you since you was a baby, and a tiny one you was." boomed the big man who had to be Hagrid. "Who's this then?"

"Hello. You must be Hagrid." Alexander replied "I'm Alexander Merlin, Harry's guardian and current regent of house Potter. I figured I'd come with you today, I have to stop in at Gringotts anyway."

"Oh... you know about Gringotts then, does yeh?" Hagrid replied, his tone surprised.

"I should do, I do enough work for them." Alexander replied, before Harry piped up.

"Plus we get enough paperwork from them to kill a small herd of goats every few weeks." came the enthusiastic reply. Hagrid smiled at the boy who was almost bouncing on his heels with impatience.

"Right then. If you'll follow me, we've got to get to the Leaky Cauldron to get in. Be fastest if we take the floo from the platform to the pub, rather than walking all the way." he said, striding towards the pillar that rested between the platforms. As he walked through it, Alexander and Harry glanced at each other, shrugged and walked towards the barrier. Harry made it through just fine, and a moment later, Alexander came through, rubbing his nose.

_Gringotts Wizarding Bank, less than ten minutes later._

"Young master Potter, good to see you again. And you, honoured Merlin." intoned the teller, with a smile that would qualify as a terrifying sight. "Are you wishing access to your vaults?"

"Yes, thank you." Harry replied, bowing his head slightly. He knew that it was considered impolite to look a goblin in the eyes unless they considered you either a close friend, or honoured enemy, although for many goblins the two categories were somewhat interchangeable. "Would teller Griphook be available to escort us? I have an item of his to return to him."

"Of course. He shall meet you by the carts. Ah, Master Hagrid. What can Gringotts do for you today?"

Hagrid was somewhat amazed. He'd never witnessed the goblins being polite to anyone before, though, like nearly all wizards, he would have missed the nuances. Goblin society was a relative unknown to anyone not associated with Gringotts or the nation directly, and the title of honoured was only awarded to warriors of significant repute or earnings, prowess in battle or economics being relatively equal to the goblin horde. After all, with enough gold, you could buy mighty warriors, but as mighty warriors, you could defeat your enemies and take their gold.  
>"Uh... yeah... Professor Dumbledore asked me to collect the you-know-what from vault you-know-which..."<br>"Certainly sir. Griphook will take you there on his way to drop the honoured Merlin off at the Merlin vault."

_Lower vaults, Vault 1, The Merlin Vault_

Alexander placed his hand against the vault door. Muttering under his breath, he pushed and there was a gout of flame. As it washed around his hand, he continued to push, until there was a click, at which a small section of the massive door swung open. Harry laughed at Hagrid's expression, then launched into an explanation.

"The fire only hurts those who don't have the right to access the vault. Uncle Alex has the right to access it, so of course he can open it."

Inside the Merlin vault is a mystery to most wizards. Rumours tell of vast amounts of gold, or magical devices, weapons, tools and artefacts of ages past, books of lost knowledge and lore, spell ingredients, and much much more. And most of these rumours have a grain of truth to them, but the most unexpected thing about the Merlin vault is it's inhabitants. It has live in guards, of a sort. The clicking, whirring, grinding mechanisms of the sentient clockwork beings inside is subtle, and comforting to those who are used to it, if a little repetitive. So of course, to Hagrid, who had never envisioned such things, these were an amazement and wonder beyond his wildest imaginings. He stood, dumbfounded by the sight of animals of all varieties, all made of clockwork, and all moving and interacting.

"Alright! I need a type two tesseract, a repeating loop archive stone, blank, a set of pre-prepared beacon sticks, an aura meter and three large mugs of tea, one plain, one with milk and the third should be twice the size of the others with a dash of cream. Pronto!" Alexander bellowed, sitting in a large, overstuffed armchair which looked like it was from the tail end of the nineteen sixties. The clockwork creatures and contraptions all appeared to go berserk, and Harry ducked as a mechanical monkey leapt over his head to grab for a small, greenish cube in a case next to him. A long, prehensile and segmented metal tail reached down to him with a small cup of tea, with milk. As he took the cup, there was the sound of a heated catfight and two of the mechanical cats appeared to have a spat over who got to bring the item they had acquired.

Afterwards, on the cart ride back up, Hagrid spoke up.

"Whu...whu...whu...whuat was all that?"

"Oh. The mechanical menagerie. It was the prized possession of a previous holder of the Merlin vault. It was left as a guard setup, and is... enthusiastic about it's duties. Every one of us who ever holds the vault leaves a contribution to it. That god awful chair was my predecessor's contribution, for example." Alexander explained with a grin. "The Merlin title doesn't go to whomever happens to be the next in line through family, it's about contributions socially to the goblin nation. I believe that if I died, it'd be... hmmm. I guess it would be Cadrigan who'd take up the title. Well, better not die then, wouldn't trust him to run a piss-up in a brewery. Anyway, yes... those of us... associated with the Goblins are selected from for the title. The vault is primarily tools for the job."

"I see..." Hagrid replied, clearly not doing so. "Right, well... uh. Would you mind taking Harry to get his robes? Ah could do with a pick me up, never did like them cart rides."

"Certainly. We'll meet you at... hmmm... Olivander's Wand Shop?"

"Aye."

As Hagrid staggered away, Griphook winked at Harry, and handed him a small book.  
>"It's the next one in the series, Mr Potter. I expect you to show it all the same care you did the others. It covers from around seventeen forty to seventeen ninety." the goblin smirked.<p>

"Thank you, teller Griphook, I shall take all due care and attention to it." Harry said formally, then laughed "And personally, thanks. From what I've heard, the wizard side of the history lessons is given by a ghost who doesn't realise he's dead, teaches the same classes every year and seems to have an obsession with goblin rebellions. It's nice to get all the perspectives."

"Indeed. Your account manager, Barchoke, asked me to ensure you had our side of the story there, and your uncle, being the history obsessive that he is, agreed. Privately... I think Barchoke likes you. He never goes out of his way to help other clients."

Harry laughed as a reply. He'd always got the impression Barchoke thought of him as a surrogate nephew, and in a different world, might have even considered adopting him. Fortunately, Uncle Alex meant that was a moot point, as being raised as a goblin would have been... very different.

At the robe shop, Harry smirked again. They'd just narrowly missed running into the Malfoy's, a family whom Alexander had nothing good to say. Thanks to a network of spies that would have put MI5 and MI6 to shame, near enough every dirty secret of the ministry was known to him, and thus, the bribes Lucius Malfoy had used to keep himself out of jail, along with a selection of others, was known. And as far as those agents could tell, (and oh boy were the reports acerbic) the younger Malfoy, Draco, was turning out much like his father. So he had no desire to associate with the little snooty twerp, or even to have to put up with meeting him.

At Olivander's, the old wandmaker did his best to creep them out. Unfortunately for him, creeping out someone who saw World War two from the front lines, a half giant and the boy-who-lived would be a tall order. His eyes flicked to Alexander, and there was a flicker of recognition in them. He nodded slightly, and then went back to trying to find a wand for Harry. Eventually they settled on a phoenix feather cored 11 inch holly wand, while Olivander continued to try to be creepy about the fact the feather was twinned with the one which had given Harry his scar, now a barely visible line on his forehead.

"'Ey, 'Arry. Since it's yer birthday an all that, Ah got yeh somethin." Hagrid smiled, lifting a cage containing a beautiful snowy owl. "So, what are yeh gonna call her?"  
>"Wow... uh... thanks Hagrid. I think... I think I'll call her... Trianoma. The messenger and diplomat, seems appropriate to me." Harry replied, grinning up at the big man.<p>

Hagrid looked flummoxed for a moment, until, behind him, Alexander chuckled. "Harry, you really should explain to the poor fellow who Trianoma was."

"Oh... sorry. Trianoma was the first apprentice of Bonisagus, and the driving force behind the Order of Hermes, which was the first attempt at a magical society after the Roman era. She sucessfully negotiated the membership of the twelve founders of the Order, which lasted until it's internal civil war tore it apart in fire and blood. Before that, though, it was in active conflict in the British isles, and even contributed to the creation of Hogwarts. After all, the four founders of Hogwarts met under the banner of Pralix, and fought at the battle of the false sun against the enemy they knew as the Spider. That was how that came to be, since when Pralix fell in battle, it was Gryffindor who took her place leading the fight, and drove the spider back, while Slytherin was the first to stand by his old friend. People forget that about the founders, they were friends before they fell out." Harry rattled off, without seeming to pause for breath. The chuckles from behind Hagrid continued as Harry finally took a breath and prepared to carry on. "Then, after that, the Order tried to re-enter Britain, but what we now think of as British wizarding society had already begun to coalesce around Hogwarts, and eventually they abandoned their last strongholds here as their internal war ripped them apart. The last reported piece of evidence of them dates to around eleven ninety, in the south of France..."  
>As Harry continued with his story, Hagrid shook his head. Patting his pocket, he began to walk away.<p>

"Harry. Harry! He's gone now, you can stop. Come on, let's get some ice-cream."


End file.
